Unable to Replay
Both you and I
Broke Tape explores the complex duality of medication in the lives of those who depend on it. For me, medication is both a necessity and a limitation. Without it, I would not be here; with it, certain emotions are softened, and the full range of human experience can feel just out of reach.
VHS tapes are now obsolete—many no longer playable due to dust, deterioration, or recording failures. My grandfather recorded every one of these tapes throughout my childhood, yet he never recorded himself. Without them, much of my past would be inaccessible. Because of my diagnosis of manic depression and anxiety, many childhood memories feel unreachable—not due to trauma, but simply because I cannot recall them. I long to relive these moments, just as I long to hold onto loved ones I’ve lost, but the memories remain blank.
To represent this absence, I display original VHS tapes with handwritten labels in shadow boxes. Alongside them, I present the tape itself—removed from its cassette and stretched within 20 × 30 frames. The film is unreadable, unplayable, and permanently detached from its source. It mirrors the way my own memories feel severed, and reflects my grandfather’s dementia—memory disconnected from its original function.
Grief and medication both hinder memory, leaving us in similar states of loss and disconnection. This work explores the intersection of mental health, medication, and my struggle to fully experience joy and grief. While medication has saved my life, it has also muted my emotional landscape and my access to the past. Through this exhibition, I invite viewers to pause and reflect on memory, absence, and sensation—and, if possible, to remember what it feels like to stop and smell the flowers.
